What Might've Been
by Deana
Summary: Aramis dwells on what he could've had, and Porthos helps him realize what he DOES have. (My entry for the June 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest: Fathers.)


**What Might've Been  
** A Musketeer story by Deana

My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for June!

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Aramis sat in a tavern alone, staring at the cup that he held between both hands. Noise surrounded him, but it was going completely unnoticed by the brooding musketeer.

The barmaid refilled his drink with a smile. "Anything else I can get you, handsome?"

"No thank you," Aramis replied, without looking up.

The girl was surprised to get such a lackluster response, and walked away slightly confused.

Aramis didn't even spare her a glance, his gaze never leaving the cup.

Porthos stood about twenty feet away, staring in shock at the scene. Aramis had seemed off all day, always insisting that he was fine even though it was obvious that he wasn't.

When Aramis didn't smile, things were far from fine. When Aramis _pretended_ to smile—as he'd done all day until now—things were downright bad.

Slowly, Porthos headed over to his friend's table in the corner, snatching a drink off the barmaid's tray as she passed him. He grabbed an empty chair and plopped it in front of the table before sitting down and looking at his friend. "Aramis," he greeted.

Aramis didn't move an inch. "Porthos," he replied.

Porthos took a gulp of his wine before placing the cup on the table. "You gonna tell me what's wrong, now? And don't you dare say 'nothing', because I'm not stupid. I _know_ you."

Aramis finally broke the stare on his cup and looked up at his friend.

Porthos caught his breath at the amount of raw pain that he saw in his closest friend's eyes. "What is it?" he asked, his voice thick with concern. " _Tell_ me."

Aramis sighed and drank the last of his wine, before sitting back and holding the empty cup in his lap. "Today is his first birthday."

Porthos knew exactly whom Aramis was talking about: the dauphin. He blinked before shaking his head. "I can't believe the year passed so fast."

Aramis silently nodded, shifting his gaze to look at nothing again.

Porthos watched him. "Talk to me. You can't keep your feelings inside...you know what that does to people; look at Athos."

Aramis gave him a humorless smile, before tossing his empty cup back onto the table and sitting forward, leaning his forehead on both hands. "I lost two families in the convent that day, Porthos! First Isabelle—who I didn't even know was there—and then...my son." The last two words were whispered.

Porthos sighed; he'd never thought of it that way. Aramis had lost his son the instant that he and Queen Anne had created him: the heir to the throne, to be raised as the future king of France. Porthos already knew the story of Isabelle, how she and Aramis had planned to marry, but then Isabelle had miscarried their baby and disappeared. Aramis had lost the chance to be a father then, and he'd lost the chance to be a father _now_.

Porthos grabbed two more drinks from the barmaid and placed one in front of his friend. "Drink," he said.

Aramis obeyed.

Porthos waited a few seconds before saying, "It's not your fault that Isabelle died in that convent."

Part of Aramis knew that to be true, but his shock and grief prevented him from fully accepting it.

"As for…your son…" said Porthos, keeping it vague in case anyone could hear them. "There's no sense in thinking of what might've been; there's nothing you can do now but perform your duty."

His duty…to serve him as they served King Louis.

Porthos reached over and grasped Aramis' arm. "Look at who your son is, and what he will become…you should be proud."

Aramis looked at him. "Two children were lost to me; one who died, and one who lives. I'm his father, Porthos, and I can never claim him as my own!"

"You don't have to," said Porthos. "You vowed to protect him with your life; that's what matters."

Aramis sighed before eventually nodding.

They were silent as they finished their drinks, and Porthos tossed a coin on the table and stood. Wordlessly, Aramis followed, but before he had a chance to take a step, Porthos walked closer.

"You might not have your son, but you have a brother," Porthos told him. "And I'll always be here."

Aramis smiled at that; a real smile. "Likewise."

Porthos smiled back and clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's get outta here; maybe we can find a Red Guard to beat up…that always makes _me_ feel better."

Aramis laughed and they headed for the door.

THE END


End file.
